


Panic With A Capital P

by OneOddKitteh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Implied abuse, Panic Attacks, Sam and John fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOddKitteh/pseuds/OneOddKitteh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to cope with Sam and John fighting. He doesn't do it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic With A Capital P

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, sorry this is rushed and rough - it was mostly just me working off some steam. Panic attack details are derived from similar experiences I've had, and it in no way reflects all people who suffer from anxiety/panic attacks. 
> 
> Thoughts/comments are appreciated!

Dean was _Tired._ Capital T, italics and all. He could hear Sam sniffling in the next bed, his little brother too proud to ask him for a hug, Dean too paralysed to move. They could both hear John thumping around in Bobby’s kitchen, probably raiding the alcohol cabinet. Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

The feeling of helplessness- who should he side with? Trying to please both of them, and pleasing neither. They just turned on him, dad expecting him to just fall into line and let him abuse Sam like that, Sam just wanting Dean to take his side. It hurt, and it ached, and he couldn’t let it show, because John would poke at the wounds until Dean snapped, and then he’d get a hiding. Couldn’t let Sam see, because his little brother had enough to cope with.

Dean had to try to stop thinking about it, before the Panic came. It had a capital P, standing for how powerless he was to stop it when it happened. He had to wait till Sammy was asleep, he had to make sure his brother didn’t hear. But it was hitting early this night, forced on by the screaming match that had ended with Bobby herding them into their rooms and heading back out to get into an argument with their father, hushed whispers carrying through the house until the older man finally hauled their dad out the door. The yelling had gone on for another half hour.

Dean tried to regulate his breaths, keeping them quiet as possible, even going so far as to turn his face into his pillow to muffle the sound. It was claustrophobic, and he couldn’t breathe. He was panicking more, because Sammy would hear him, Sammy who just wanted to stay at the one damn school, Sammy who just wanted to make friends and be a lawyer, Sammy who couldn’t know that Dean was broken. Dean forced himself to count, making it all the way to fifteen before his thoughts derailed again. He didn’t deserve to Panic, not tonight, not after the way he’d let his brother down.

He hadn’t stood up to his father, only asked him to stop. He hadn’t stood up for his little brother, but he’d tried so hard to keep him safe, he’d tried to force John’s attention back to him. But it wasn’t _good enough_ , and Sammy was crying, and it was all Dean’s fault.

He stood up abruptly, throwing back the covers and tiptoeing to the door. “Just going to the toilet, Sammy,” he reassured his brother.

He barely got there, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could before dropping to the floor. His whole body trembled, back pressed up against the door. He shook with the silent force of his sobs, head falling back onto the door as he let go. He wasn’t good enough, he couldn’t keep Sammy safe, he’d messed up and Sammy was crying and Dad was mad and he _knew_ Dad would go harder on him in training because if he messed up in training Dad could yell, and Dad was mad at Sammy but Bobby could protect Sammy, but Bobby didn’t have any say in training, and Dean couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t get enough air. His face was twisting into gruesome expressions; he knew he must look awful. God knows what John would say if he saw him. He bared his teeth, angry, so angry, before his face crumpled yet again.

He tried to hold his breath, tried to calm himself down, despite knowing it wouldn’t work. The silence echoed in the bathroom, each gasp of breath overwhelming him until he curled in on himself, unable to take the open, threatening space. Pressing his fingers hard against his ears took away the empty, but it meant that his breath was louder, and he didn’t know which was worse. Snot was running from his nose, tears mingling with the mucus in his mouth and making awful wet sounds as he breathed.

It wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop it, he didn’t deserve it but it wouldn’t _stop_. It wasn’t _fair,_ he just wanted to make stuff but he had to hunt, and he had to take care of Sammy, and Sammy didn’t realise that Dean liked school too, but he couldn’t escape the hunting life. Everything, all the little hurts, the big hurts, they piled up in his chest, in his head. His nails raked against his face, tried to let it out, his other hand shoved into his mouth where he bit to stop that awful keening. And then he let it go.

He let the Panic overwhelm him, let it go. He didn’t know how long it’d been, but he let himself have this. Dad and Bobby thought he was asleep, Sammy probably assumed he was relieving tension by jerking off. He had to let it go, or it wouldn’t stop.

Gradually he slumped forward, cheek resting against the cool floor. His breathing slowed, sharp pants becoming shaky sighs. It was ok. He would be ok.

He would take whatever John threw at him the next day, he would take it gladly, because it meant that Sammy wouldn’t get hurt. He’d make choc-chip pancakes for Sammy for breakfast, and he’d make sure Dad wouldn’t take the morning after out on his little brother. He’d give Bobby a hug, because Bobby’s hugs were hard and warm and safe, and he’d give one to his brother, try to do the same.

It would be ok. He just had to be better. He could make it better. He _could._ He _had_ to.


End file.
